


Domestic

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Saint Seiya prompts & short fic [155]
Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Bad Cooking, Cooking, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff, Humor, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: Camus wants to cook for his boyfriend, Milo. The only problem is, Camus can only cook one thing. Oops.





	Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> From a batch of prompts I did over on my tumblr, [@oopsbirdficced](http://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com). This was previously posted in a drabble collection 'Saint Seiya: Snapshots’, that I have chosen to take down and post individually for ease of access. 
> 
> (Originally posted 10-29-2017)

“Tell me you need me.” Milo says dryly, watching Camus butcher beets at his kitchen countertop. Camus tosses a glare over his shoulder. He is half  _French._  He’s  _got this_. French people are  _known_ for being able to cook. Or, well, stereotyped. It’s a stereotype he wants to live up to, though. Even if he only lived in France very briefly before his mother could no longer handle the emotional strain of trying to raise him, and sent him to live with her mother in Russia instead. Even if he considers himself more Russian than French anyway.  
  
He  _can_ cook.  
  
…  
  
…one thing. But one thing counts as a thing! Even if it is just borscht. In all its varied permutations.  
  
Hey, at least he’s getting his vegetables. Which is good, because he always either undercooks meat or burns it. He eyes the cabinet he keeps the vodka in. He can hear Milo judging him.  
  
“What’s the point in me visiting if you cook, Camus?” Milo asks, and now he directs a wounded look at him. He winces. “Okay, bad word choice. I’d visit you regardless, even though you choose to live in a frozen hellscape.”   
  
_Rude._  It’s the middle of summer, it isn’t even below freezing outside.  
  
“But my point is, you can’t live off of beets alone. When was the last time you had meat?” Milo looks pitying.  
  
“I visited Baba Sasha last Thursday and she gave me leftovers that lasted me three days.” He says with wounded pride. They were good leftovers. He loves his grandmother so much. Even if she and her two best friends, Baba Masha and Baba Katya, are always clucking. He’s  _fifteen,_  that’s  _adult._    
  
Milo nods, occupied in brushing Camus’s dogs. He had thought that the task would keep Milo occupied enough to save him from the Scorpio Saint’s gentle disapproval of his culinary skills. After all, Camus has six dogs, all of them Samoyeds. That’s a lot of fur that needs brushing. Not that he would trade his beloved sled team for anything. He raised them from puppies, they’re his  _babies._    
  
“So you haven’t had meat in three days? Since today is Thursday.” he says, and Camus calculates it in his head.  
  
“Yes?” he says warily, eyeing his boyfriend.   
  
“Do you know how many calories a Gold Saint burns through in a day, with just a regular training regimen? More than you’re getting, Camus.  _Protein._  It’s your  _friend._ ” Milo says, with the longsuffering air of one who has gone through this argument too many times. Camus flushes blotchily.  
  
“I’m trying to be a good host,” he mutters to the beets. Milo stands, briefly abandoning his sacred duty, to his dogs’ vocal displeasure, and hugs Camus from behind. Camus hastily puts down his knife.   
  
“I know you are. Which is why I’ll eat your borscht tonight. But tomorrow we’re going into town for groceries, and I’m cooking for the rest of the month. Deal?” Milo asks, and Camus nods, sighing softly. Milo kisses his cheek, returning to the dogs. “Your borscht is really good, Camus. I mean it.” He says, a balm against the truths he’s spoken. Camus smiles fondly down at his beets.  
  
“I’m glad you like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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End file.
